


I Know My Kingdom Awaits and They've Forgiven My Mistakes

by ElijahDarling



Category: For the People (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anya Ooms is a Giant Horn Dog, Anya Ooms is a Hitman, Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, I apologize for nothing, Rating may go up, but really just my own monster, kinda like Barry on HBO, kinda like Killing Eve on BBC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 22:18:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17434544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElijahDarling/pseuds/ElijahDarling
Summary: "The men who have contracted her are obnoxiously old school. Face to face meetings. Manila envelopes. Thuggish, unsmiling minions eyeing her up like they could take her in a fight.Anya is bored. She’s been bored for a while. This job is starting to blur together and she hardly even enjoys that occasionally she gets to travel to exotic locales for work. Who cares if you get to go to interesting places if you only ever see the inside of anonymous hotel rooms and maybe the mark’s bathroom if you need to dissolve them in the tub? Anya went to Paris last year and didn’t eat a single pastry or even get to seduce some hairy-legged French woman. And then her mark had a heart attack before she could kill him so her employers tried to cancel payment.Tried."Anya Ooms is an assassin on the verge of retiring. Kate Littlejohn is working on an important case against the mafia. And is so Anya's type that it isn't funny.





	I Know My Kingdom Awaits and They've Forgiven My Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> I prompted @forthepeopletvshow on Tumblr to write this and then started writing it myself. This shouldn't get past like five chapters.
> 
> Also, if anyone is interested, please sign up for the [fic exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/FtP_FicExchange) that I've put together in the For the People fandom. It will be very small but we can still have fun. Sign ups are due by the 19th of January. Fic will be due by March 7th.

The men who have contracted her are obnoxiously old school. Face to face meetings. Manila envelopes. Thuggish, unsmiling minions eyeing her up like they could take her in a fight.

 

Anya is  _ bored.  _ She’s been bored for a while. This job is starting to blur together and she hardly even enjoys that occasionally she gets to travel to exotic locales for work. Who cares if you get to go to interesting places if you only ever see the inside of anonymous hotel rooms and maybe the mark’s bathroom if you need to dissolve them in the tub? Anya went to Paris last year and didn’t eat a  _ single  _ pastry or even get to seduce some hairy-legged French woman. And then her mark had a heart attack before she could kill him so her employers tried to cancel payment.

 

Tried.

 

So Anya just tosses the envelope on her bed when she gets home without looking at it and decides she’s going to stretch her legs.

 

She does love New York. She loves the anonymity. That her neighbors won’t bother her unless she makes herself a nuisance. She loves too that there’s always something happening somewhere - that there’s always some noise as if the city is providing her a soundtrack. She misses it’s awful rain storms when she’s in California. She misses it’s cynicism when she’s in Washington. She misses it’s candidness when she’s in D.C..

 

It is her home base, if not a true home. It is the place that she judges all other places against.

 

Anya can admit it has been hard to be away these last two months. 

 

That thought almost makes her stop in her pace. Has she been  _ homesick?  _ She wants to scoff at the idea that her nondescript, terminally dark apartment is one that she’s grown sentimentally attached to, but she’s noticed a certain antsy quality to her static self when she gets jobs now, that always settles when she’s on the plane coming home. 

 

_ Coming home. _

 

Such a sentimental term, and she is not a sentimental woman.

 

Annoyed, Anya steers herself into the nearest coffee shop to find a hot drink to ground herself with, or at the very least drown herself if her mind keeps insisting on being sappy.

 

Armed with some sort of milkshake concoction, she settles herself in the corner of the shop with a view of everyone and an eye on the door. She scores the only empty table left - the place is practically hopping.

 

Almost immediately after observing this a fresh crowd comes through the door, a put together blonde at the head of the pack and big eyes already on the cashier - not bothering with perusing the menu. Anya sips her Diabetes in a 16 Ounce Cup and watches as the woman orders “Tea. Black. Thank you.” (It reminds her of Captain Picard with his “Tea. Earl Grey. Hot.” period punctuated order; Star Trek: The Next Generation being her Aunt’s choice of background noise.) Then comes the scan for a table and Anya finds herself trying to catch her eye, feels her face forming an invitation, nodding toward the empty seat across from her.

 

But this isn’t what she _ does  _ \- not  _ here _ . New York has never been the place where she hunts, or plays, or any activity between or both at once. As the composed beauty takes Anya in and clearly weighs whether she wants to join her, Anya finds herself trying to will her into walking over. She’s done this before, welcomed woman into her company and a room, a bed before but not in New York. New York is not a place she wants to be recognized - not on any level.

 

Dammit, she likes New York first and foremost for the  _ anonymity _ .

 

But the woman is walking her way, decision made, and Anya can feel the shivery joy she gets from an invitation received well.

 

She sits down primly - proper. This, Anya can’t help but smile, is an “a place for everything and everything in its place” sort of lady. From the neat wheat colored hair that seems cut to show off a jawline that would make a warrior-queen jealous to her tailored, feminine suit. A soft butch with soft thighs that Anya wants to hike over her hips or ride on until she perishes. 

 

“Kate.” A sedate smile accompanies this name. “Thank you.”

 

“Kate,” she likes how it feels in her mouth, on her tongue. “I’m Anya.”

 

_ Why. Why did you give her your real name? _

 

She ignores the reprimand her brain is screaming out, reaches over to shake Kate’s hand - to force the reflexive politeness that is so often her partner on her hunts. First contact is essential, and Kate’s hands are dry and just a little bit chilled. Kate’s eyes are direct and look almost like they can see through her - Anya wants them looking up at her before the end of today.

 

_ Down, girl. _

 

Right. Groundwork first.

 

“Taking a break?” She asks. Causal. This could still be polite conversation.

 

“Refueling.” Kate blows on her tea, takes a quick drink. “It’s a long week for me at work.”

 

“It’s Sunday.”

 

“Then it’s the start of another long week. My point still stands.” 

 

Well then. Anya considers herself corrected.

 

“Boss had you work the weekend?”

 

“This case is important. Sacrificing my free time didn’t have to be asked of me - I volunteered.”

 

Kate looks a little too comfortable, a little too secure in the direction of this conversation. So Anya decides to get a little aggressive, to throw her off. To their mutual delight, of course.

 

“Well, when you decide you need a break from burning the midnight oil, you could call me for company.” She decides to leave her business cards in her pocket and instead writes her private mobile number on Kate’s to go cup. With that she stands, making sure that her smile shows her meaning.

 

Kate’s bewilderment makes her look like a cartoon owl. “Call you at midnight?”

 

Anya tosses her own coffee cup, tucks her hair behind her ear. “That’s when I do my best work. It was a  _ pleasure _ meeting you, Kate.”

 

She goes back to her apartment, feeling high on victory and Pretty Girl Smell (™) and almost carelessly opens her envelope on the latest job only to look down at the photo of her mark and sees that same face that somehow is lusty warrior-queen and dorky owl all at once and all Anya can say at this is “ _ Fuck. _ ”

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone is interested, please sign up for the [fic exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/FtP_FicExchange) that I've put together in the For the People fandom. It will be very small but we can still have fun. Sign ups are due by the 19th of January. Fic will be due by March 7th.


End file.
